


Eyelids

by whyisthisathing



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Hammertime - Freeform, M/M, Pepsicola, Seattle, The Nova Project, johnvris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyisthisathing/pseuds/whyisthisathing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider visits John in Seattle. He doesn't realize this means going to school with John, socializing with his friends, and sleeping in his bed. This was not what he signed up for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is named after a song- Eyelids, by the Dodos.  
> 

'The best of these eyelids,  
is where I keep,  
but I will not weep,  
til you arrive.'

Your name is JOHN EGBERT, and now is one of those annoying times when you can’t help but hate your hair. It’s not just that the tangled raven mess is always unkempt and silly, you usually easily deal with that, it’s that Dave Strider is visiting you, and you need to look your best.

Okay, no, you don’t. You don’t need to look your best. However, you want to, and feel like you have to, because your best friend is coming to Seattle to see you. He is traveling from Texas to Washington to see you. You have been friends with this guy since before you were thirteen, yet you haven’t ever seen him other than over Skype. You haven’t actually seen him yet, and you simply cannot wait! You sigh, allowing your hands to rest on the sink. Fixing your hair is a futile attempt. It’s brushed through, yet it is still a mess. The hands that had previously been on the edge of the sink flew up and adjusted your glasses, something that honestly didn’t need to be done. It was a nervous habit. Everyone had their thing, and yours just happened to be adjusting your glasses. Subtle and elegant (not really elegant, but you’d like to think so, so you will.).

It has taken you four outfit changes to settle on this one, and even now you think it’s too much blue. Maybe you shouldn’t wear jeans. You really don’t want Dave to think you’re trying too hard. Another glasses-adjustment. A dark blue- almost black- shirt hangs off your slim frame. A cyan (more Jane’s color, but oh well) hand if place on the chest, and lines outline this. Directly under the hand, ‘STARFUCKER’ is written in a barely legible font. You honestly enjoy Starfucker; their music is really cool! You lift your wrist, your eyes briefly skimming the watch that Dad gave you. Shit! You’re going to be late!

The absence of a car in your possession is really a bummer. Luckily, there are trains or buses heading almost everywhere in Seattle, and if your run, it only takes you a matter of minutes to reach the Light Rail (a local bus/train thing). You inhale deeply, trying to get your pulse under control. Your long fingers curl around your phone and wallet, shoving them into your back pocket as you hurry down the stairs.

Cold air hits you as you emerge from your warm house. You shiver lightly, pulling a slight coat tighter around yourself. You’re pretty accustomed to the cold, but the wind was particularly harsh today. It whips your black hair around, but your attention is focused on the blockily smooth Light Rail glides into the station. The doors open achingly slowly, and you quickly board. Oh, look, your heart is racing. Just about ten minutes until you see Dave!

Then it hits you. You’re going to actually lay eyes on Dave. You’re going to be able to touch him (no, not in that way, stop thinking like that). You have to sit down. Your arms wrap around yourself, and you hug yourself, grinning like an idiot. Holy fucking shit, Dave is visiting you. Your heart just won’t stop pounding! You can hear it in your ears.

Your body is jerked to the side slightly as the bus/train starts, and you force yourself to relax. You force your back to slouch gently into the seat behind you, your eyes focusing out the window. A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you allow your eyes to close. Calm the fuck down, Egbert. Do you want to stutter in front of Dave?

You’ve head a stutter since you were little. Three years of speech therapy and it cleared up. Mostly. It comes back when you get super excited, nervous or scared. Dad makes you got back to Dr. Maryam every other month to make sure your stutter is still controllable. It always is.

You feel nerves take excitement’s place in making your heart race. What if you fuck up and start stuttering in front of Dave? You groan, covering your face with your hands. You cannot do that. You are not going to make a stuttering fool of yourself in front of the most attractive- not like that, in a platonic way- person that you know. The Light Rail stops, and your blue eyes quickly recognize the surroundings of the airport. You hurry off the platform, jogging down the slight slope into the main building of the airport. You slip out your phone, and text Dave.  
EB: hey, i'm at the airport. where are you?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's point of view, almost to the meeting, bluh bluh bluh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so sorry that it took me so long to get the second chapter down!

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you do not like flying. You mean, how does it stay up in the air? Won’t you fall? It’s a totally logical fear! Of course, no one knows about this little fear of yours (it might be perceived as uncool, and that is not an adjective that describes you. Nope, not at all. Shut up.), and John had told you an airplane would be easier than a train, so you had taken a plane. Probably not the best idea. Your heart had started racing uncontrollably when you had sat down in one of those stupid airline seats, and didn’t stop until your feet hit solid ground. Even music blasting in your ears failed to calm you down. You hate flying.

The woman sitting beside you had decided to try and make friends with you, despite your hostile posture and nature. You had ended up just placing your headphones on your ears and blaring some band that you honestly kind of enjoyed. The soft tunes and light lyrics reminded you, in a subtle way, of John.

John, the reason you’re coming to Seattle. John, the painfully adorable dork. John, your love interest for the past year or so. You two have video-chatted before, and you almost instantly enthralled by his expressions, by his goofy smile. You enjoy his personality, his ever-lasting dorkiness. You enjoy how when he gets confused, his eyebrows furrow and he looks significantly more grumpy than confused. You love how he blushes so easily. You like how he gets when he’s flustered, even though he hates it. You like him.

It took you an uncharacteristically long time to realize that while you were day-dreaming about Egbert, you were standing still, your luggage a few inches away from your hand. You must’ve looked like a total tool. Long fingers wrapped around your bag, and you tighten your grip as you begin to walk. You take semi-long strides, but then you notice that you have no idea where to go. Bluh.

Your hidden eyes follow the directions printed in bright, friendly font on signs. Where was John supposed to find you? You should probably text him. As you slip out your phone, it buzzes. You nearly drop it, the sudden vibration in your hand surprising you. Thank god no one’s watching you.

You’re unusually nerve-y today, and just the simple movement of your phone startled you. Hopefully, it was just because of the fact that you were seeing John Egbert in person. A wave of nervousness washes through you, and you almost grimace. Almost.

You look down at your phone, unlocking it. Oh, it was only John.

‘EB: i’m at the airport. where are you?

TG: dude help

TG: this place is like a fucking maze

TG: have people died in here? they probably have

TG: are you trying to get me lost

TG: are you trying to kill me, egbert?

EB: no, of course not!

EB: it’s just an airport, dave. now can you tell me where you are?

You glance up, your lips curved in an almost unnoticeable smirk.

TG: luggage pickup place thingy

EB: now i’m pretty sure you’re trying to be vague, dude. do you want to be found?

TG: wow hold up

TG: are you threatening to leave me here

TG: are you threatening to just abandon me in this death-maze of an airport

TG: is that what you want to do to your best bro

EB: no! of course not!

EB: just give me a straight answer. where are you?

TG: the street

As you’ve been chatting with John, you’ve been walking. Your aimless steps have taken you outside, where the wind whips your hair. A sigh escapes your lips as your perfectly styled hair is blown out of shape. Still, it probably looks better than John’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for finishing the chapter! Alright, I'll probably update today or tomorrow.


	3. Is that Dave?

As always, you’re amazed by Dave’s power to be incredibly endearing and piss you off at the same time. Not that you think Dave is endearing! You’re totally straight. You even have a girlfriend! But right now isn’t the time to dwell on the fact that you’re dating someone. Right now is the time to dwell on the fact that Dave Strider is visiting you, while not freaking out. Because you are totally capable of doing that. Yep. No problems there, haha. Ha.

You glance down as your phone chirps again, unlocking the screen with a click. You make a big deal of rolling those blue eyes of yours at his response. The street? Where on the street? Does he expect you to read his mind?

You’re not really sure why you’re irritable. You’re not really sure why it feels like something is building up in your throat, like you want to cry. After a couple moments of silent observation, you realize you’re scared. You’re terrified. You’re scared that he won’t like how you look, you’re scared he’ll judge you, you’re scared he won’t like your voice, you’re just scared. You know that all of these worries probably are unnecessary; you know that Dave won’t complain. Yet, you’re still terrified.

The soft, cool Seattle breeze tosses your raven locks, and you smile softly. The wind always has been relaxing to you, but you’re not really sure why. Your shoes make no noise on the concrete as you walk down the slightly busy street, aware of the people hailing taxis, your bright eyes searching for the familiar aviators and blonde hair of one Dave Strider. You can feel your heart hammering restlessly against your ribcage, your breaths slightly shallow. Or, at least they feel shallow. You don’t feel like you’re getting enough air, and suddenly you wish you had brought your inhaler. It’s perfectly logical that you didn’t bring your inhaler; your asthma has toned down a fuck ton, and why would you have an asthma attack at an airport? However, you still wish you had brought it.

Your fingers tap out a rhythm on your arm. You have your arms crossed, so this is a thing that can happen. After a couple seconds, you realize that you are tapping the left hand part to the piano version of Michael Nyman’s Time Lapse. Your lips quirk up in a soft, warm smile. This song has always reminded you of Dave. The steady, soft beat was relaxing, and the flutes and violin fluttering about gave it a slight ominous personality. Not that Dave was ominous, but he definitely held a mysterious quality to him (at least some of the time).

Your attention is drawn back to your phone as it dings.

‘TG: yo jbert

TG: can we do that cliché run and hug thing when we see each other?

TG: actually this isnt up for debate

TG: where doing it man

TG: where making this happen’

You smile at his Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff reference. Dave can do that to you, make you smile. Just his rambles and metaphors make you smile and laugh. Perhaps this is why you find yourself feeling more and more attached to the blonde with each conversation.

Your steps contain a small skip, as always. Your eyes scan faces for the right one. You feel the fear being replaced by excitement and giddiness. As your pace quickens, you notice a head of white-blonde hair, and you hurry the fuck up. The person you assume to be Dave turns and you see the aviators you gave him for his thirteenth birthday. Jesus Christ Dave Strider is attractive.

**Author's Note:**

> wow thanks for reading! the next two chapters (Dave's point of view for coming and when they actually meet up) will hopefully be posted tomorrow!


End file.
